Site Mobile Navigation

Closure? A Buzzword Becomes a Quest

A legal secretary who lives in Brooklyn returned to the site of the twin towers on Oct. 11 in search of it. A Bronx businessman designed an itinerary so his relatives, visiting from Nigeria for their daughter's funeral, could get it. The mayor has sought to give it to bereaved families in the form of urns filled with ashes. A woman whose husband's body was identified does not mention that she has it, because other widows do not.

Virtually everyone, it seems, is looking for closure.

In the aftermath of Sept. 11, the term has gone from a buzzword to a commonplace, used as frequently by families and firefighters as by politicians and newscasters.

When Mark Green patched things up with his opponent, Fernando Ferrer, after the Democratic mayoral runoff, he cited the need for it. So did an emergency medical technician from Queens who was asked why he was getting a 9-11 memorial tattoo on his arm. ''I don't know,'' he shrugged. ''Closure?''

Despite its ring of authority, closure, in the popular sense of the word, is generally not to be found in psychology textbooks. In self-help meetings, courtrooms and politics, it has become shorthand for which the longhand is unclear. And not only is it not a clinical term, mental health professionals say, it represents a flawed concept whose overuse could do more harm than good.

In a time of war, terrorist alerts, anthrax scares and plane crashes, grief specialists and counselors worry that the notion of closure, which implies that emotions conform to a preordained agenda, is premature. It is, they say, symptomatic of a society that believes in getting on with things at all costs. (''The city has to keep going forward,'' Mayor Rudolph W. Giuliani said the day that Flight 587 crashed.)

''It's associated with another phrase, which is a very strange one: 'Put it behind us,' '' said Dennis Klass, editor of the book ''Continuing Bonds: New Understandings of Grief'' (Taylor & Francis, 1996) and a professor of religious studies at Webster University in St. Louis. ''Maybe we put a contested election behind us. But we do not put death behind us. We do not put disaster -- or call it trauma -- behind us. We put either behind us at our own peril.''

Even as the steppingstones that are supposed to lead to closure, from expedited death certificates to memorial services at ground zero, are carefully laid out for families to follow, some counselors are banning the concept altogether.

''We usually avoid that word because I don't think there really is a true closure,'' said Dr. Kerry J. Kelly, chief medical officer for the New York Fire Department. ''The grieving continues, but in different ways.''

Dr. Neal L. Cohen, the city's commissioner of health, said that fewer families than expected have taken the proffered, streamlined route to closure. (He called the term itself simplistic.) His office said just over 2,000 death certificates had been requested.

The rest of the families, it appears, are moving at their own pace. ''I have one client that was given a little container of dirt from the site, and it was like, 'Here, now go forth and be comforted,' '' said Sandra Owens, a trauma and grief counselor who has worked with victims' families. ''He was horrified. He was horrified.''

An error has occurred. Please try again later.

You are already subscribed to this email.

The word closure implies an ending, Ms. Owens said, even as Americans are just beginning to adjust to a new reality. She sees the rush to closure as wishful thinking that things will return to normal. ''Those who are looking so desperately for it, or who think they've found it, are just trying to anesthetize themselves to what's going on,'' she said.

Many grief experts see danger in denial. ''We 'closed' the Oklahoma City bombing by killing Timothy McVeigh and then acting as if the disaffection that McVeigh represented isn't there,'' Dr. Klass said. ''When we put things behind us and don't learn from them -- don't change our lives because now we know that -- that's not healthy.''

But the chimera of closure holds out some alluring promises: an end to the pain of grief and a return to normalcy or even prosperity. The sooner, of course, the better. For companies dealing with a traumatized work force, there are economic reasons to encourage moving on. ''Closure is a euphemism for: 'We've lost a hell of a lot of money, we can't lose any more, so if you value your job, get back on that computer screen,' '' Ms. Owens said.

John R. Aiello, a professor at Rutgers who focuses on social and organizational psychology and has counseled employees at several companies since Sept. 11, agreed. ''That's the bottom line,'' he said, cautioning, ''I think it's shortsighted when companies go in that direction.'' Workers who fear losing their jobs may develop post-traumatic stress syndrome and other problems that impair productivity.

Closure is not a word with an easy definition. It means, well, you know, closure. Samuel J. Tenenbaum, a retired businessman and philanthropist in Columbia, S.C., helped lead an effort to raise enough money to buy a fire engine for New York, in return for a hose carriage that New York firefighters sent to Columbia when the city was devastated by fire after the Civil War. What, exactly, does he mean when he says the gesture will bring closure? ''It brings closure to that era of conflict but also helps bring closure to this moment of contemporary disaster,'' Mr. Tenenbaum explained, adding, ''It's a difficult concept to talk about.''

Some date the widespread use of the term to the Oklahoma City bombing, others to the Monica Lewinsky debacle. From South Africa, with its Truth and Reconciliation Commission, to the Deep South, with its long-delayed trials of Klansmen, communities have dealt with closure. But typically, justice, or at least legal resolution, has been a component. With the World Trade Center, that aspect has fallen away, at least for now.

''In my mind I'm thinking, going out to war, is that going to make everything all right?'' said Minerva Mentor-Portillo, who buried her husband last month. With skepticism in her voice, she added, ''Is that going to make my husband's death not in vain?''

For those closest to the tragedy, like Ms. Mentor-Portillo, closure means one thing: finding their loved ones' remains. In this new, upside-down world, that has come to be viewed as a blessing. And even counselors agree that if closure means confronting reality so it can begin to be assimilated, then it is all right.

For Kathleen Wik, whose husband worked for the Aon Corporation, the receipt of his body and his wedding ring has made his death something more real than a horrific event she watched on the news. But that does not mean her mourning is over. ''Oh God, no. I think I've only just begun,'' she said. But there are few ways to put a name to her experience. ''I got closure because I got his body. Is that the truest sense of the word? I don't know.''